


There's Always A But...

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst and Humor, Armchair Therapy, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Break Up, Post-Hogwarts, Self-Pity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After handling a bad day very poorly, two angry people are ordered to go to therapy.But anger is just a symptom of something else, isn't it?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11
Collections: Tag(line) You're It! Competition





	1. So You Had A Bad Day?

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "Life doesn't always go according to plan." (Silver Linings Playbook)
> 
> This must be the angstiest fic I ever wrote and even then I still giggled. So either I need therapy, or you might actually like this.
> 
> I tried to tag accordingly, but if I missed something, please let me know.
> 
> Many thanks to my amazing betas for stepping in and fixing this up. ( I shall reveal them after the comp)

“I’m sorry, but what do you mean it’s not working out?”

Hermione stared at Clifford, suddenly feeling exposed standing in the middle of her dimly lit living room wearing only a sheer black gown over some very expensive underwear.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

Clifford sighed sadly. “Let’s be honest with each other. We’re just not making each other happy.”

“Happy? But I am happy. You make me happy, see?” She waved her hands up and down, indicating the lingerie that had put a healthy dent in her credit card.

“Hermione, it took us three weeks to plan this dinner. That’s not normal,” Clifford pointed out. “We never go away on the weekend anymore. I can’t surprise you with lunch at work, because you’re always in meetings. We haven’t had sex in months.”

“That’s what tonight was for,” she cried in exasperation.

“Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood right now,” Clifford crossed his arms, making him look taller and his shoulders wider, emphasising his Quidditch player build.

“You said you understood. You said you supported my career, which I’m only now gaining traction with. You said you had a five-year plan for us.”

Clifford dropped his arms, hunching his shoulders. “Maybe five years is just too long for me to wait.”

Hermione stood there, gaping like a fish out of water. Unable to utter a single word.

“I’ll have my stuff moved out tomorrow while you’re at work. I’ll owl you the keys.” With that, Clifford turned his back on her and left.

Hermione grabbed the bottle of wine from the table, collapsed on the sofa and proceeded to drink it all straight from the bottle.

* * *

“I’m sorry, but what do you mean it’s not working out?”

If it wasn’t for the hangover clouding her head the next morning, Hermione would have laughed at the fact that she sounded like a broken record.

“It’s not you, specifically, Miss Granger.” Pious Fillsbury didn’t even look apologetic. “It’s the budget. All the departments are making cuts and as our most junior member, we have no choice but to let you go.”

Hermione wanted to argue. She wanted to shout and demand that they find someone else to let go, she wanted to state her case that she was the best person they bloody well had in the department. She could think of three people ready to go on retirement off the top of her head.

She nodded her head instead, fighting to calm the tremors coursing through her limbs.

After packing up her desk and signing a pile of release documents, she made her way home.

Clifford’s brother Gareth was in her living room when she got home, looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he was packing up Clifford’s things.

“Bugger,” he breathed out. “I thought you’re supposed to be at work.”

“Yes, well, things change,” she muttered, dropping her box on the sofa and quickly exiting the flat, not wanting to see another one of the pillars of her carefully planned out life crumble into dust.

Once on the street, she realised she didn’t have anywhere to go. Everyone she knew was working. She chose a random direction and started walking. 

The clouds above her had darkened just like her mood, not long after the first drops of rain started to fall. It quickly turned into a downpour, she had decided to go and walk in muggle London, without an umbrella…

Hermione let the rain soak her to the bone, this was the worst it could get, right?


	2. So You're Not A Fan Of Trees

“I’m sorry, but what do you mean she’s gone?”

Draco felt his knees start to shake and he reached out, his hand slapping against the cold wall of the passageway. The loud *thunk* echoed in his head, blocking out the rest of the doctor’s words.

The doctor helped him into a seat and sat down next to him, keeping her voice low and calm.

Draco shook his head, trying to clear the fog that was quickly threatening to overtake him.

“There still must be something you can do?” He asked, the desperation clear in his voice.

The doctor bit her lips and sadly shook her head, the pity visible in her eyes. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. Is there anyone we can contact for you?”

Draco clenched his hands, his nails biting into his palms. “No. I have nobody.”

* * *

If anyone asked him, Draco would say he was sad, but hanging in there.

In reality, he spent the week that followed on the drunk side of tipsy, leaving all the arrangements for the funeral to the house-elves.

When the last guest had left, he wandered the manor like a ghost, feeling the walls closing in on him. He ran for the nearest door, banging it open with his hands and never looking back.


	3. So This Is Rather Awkward

“I’m sorry, but I don’t need to go to group therapy.”

“Hermione, it’s Wizengamot sanctioned. It’s either six weeks of this or a year in Azkaban.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” she huffed, incredulously.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You caused a bar fight. You’re lucky the landlord isn’t suing you for property damages.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back on Harry’s sofa. “They started it.”

“Hermione, this is serious. Why didn’t you speak to me or Ginny or anyone else about it? We could have helped.”

She shrugged. “Clifford’s an arsehole.”

“I think the entire village of Shepperton is aware of that by now. How the hell did you get all the way out there from Primrose Hill?”

“As I said in my statement, I needed some air and just walked along the Thames until I got thirsty.”

“This is not healthy, Hermione. Please, just attend the therapy sessions until they sign off on your...”

“Sanity?”

“Mental wellbeing. You’re lucky the Wizengamot chose a Summary Judgement, or you’d be spending the week here.”

Hermione snorted and picked at an old Quidditch Jersey Harry had loaned her. Her clothes hadn’t survived the bar fight as well as she had. Her hair was gathered in a messy bun on the top of her head and she still smelled of the spilt firewhisky and butterbeers that had soaked into her skin. 

“Fine. Can I go home and shower now?”

Harry glanced to the side and Hermione felt her blood run cold. 

“Harry? What are you not telling me?”

“Part of your release agreement is that you live with Ginny and me until your therapy sessions are completed.”

She burst out laughing, doubling over as her shoulders shook from the force of her hysterics.

“Uh, Hermione?”

“Sorry,” she hiccuped, trying to calm down. “You… won’t get it anyway.”

Her landlord would have evicted her by the end of the month anyway for not paying her rent, which often occurs when you lose your job.

* * *

“I’m sorry, but I have to attend what?”

“Mr Malfoy, you must understand, these were the best arrangements I could negotiate for your release.”

“Did you explain that I was grieving?”

“I did, but they said it didn’t excuse your blood alcohol level, nor the property destruction.”

Draco lowered his head, on the verge of firing his lawyer. “It was my own property that I destroyed, and I don’t intend to press charges against myself. Are they aware of that?”

“That was the cause for concern according to the Wizengamot. So they have also instructed you to live with a sponsor family until your therapy is complete.”

“Oh fuck off!” 

His lawyer gave a nervous twitch and shrunk further into his body, leaving his shoulders almost past his ears. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked. “Non-negotiable terms. Violation will have you sent to Azkaban for a year.”

Draco leaned back, still stiff from his little jaunt to the very edge of his property where he proceeded to blow up a few old trees. Apparently, his neighbours took offence to his topiary pursuits and had called the Aurors. A broken bit of leaf fell from his hair and landed on his dirty, torn shirt. 

“Fine,” he relented. “Who am I imposing on?”

“The Potters.”

Suddenly a year in Azkaban held far more appeal. 


	4. Houseguests, huh?

"I'm sorry, but this isn't going to work."

Hermione picked up her bag and moved towards the door of the Potter's house.

She had arrived a few minutes earlier and walked into the living room only to see Draco Malfoy, of all people, sitting on the sofa, looking quite at home. Ginny's lips were pulled into a hard disapproving line, while Harry looked like he'd rather be battling a dragon somewhere far away.

"You can’t leave," Harry reminded her. "You have to stay here while you attend your sessions."

Draco snorted from his seat. "I'm not happy with the arrangement myself, but I suppose it's more comfortable than a cell in Azkaban."

Hermione dropped her bag with a huff. "This is ridiculous. The Wizengamot completely overreacted."

Ginny and Harry shared a look. "It's only for 6 weeks. I'm sure if we tried, we can all get along without any bloodshed or destroyed furniture." Harry tried to placate everyone in the room. "Hermione, your room is up the stairs to the left and Malfoy, you're to the right. Your sessions are at 11 every other morning. I will escort you through the Floo and then fetch you when they are done."

"We're not children, Potter. I'm sure I can navigate a simple Floo journey alone." Draco sneered.

"It's part of the court order. Did you even bother to read it?" Hermione sniffed at him.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered about needing a drink.

"That will have to wait until after your sessions. For the next six weeks, this is a dry house," Ginny grit out, not particularly happy with that arrangement either. 

Draco stood up and spoke. “Sod it, I’ll be in my room.” 

Hermione was slightly taken aback at how tall he'd gotten since she'd last seen him. 

"I'll take dinner there too. Let me know when we have to leave for the thing." He waved his hand lazily as he ascended the stairs.

The tension left in his wake gave Hermione goosebumps, and she followed him up the stairs with a quick "What he said" to Ginny and Harry.

She could hear Ginny and Harry quietly arguing as she unpacked her clothes and settled into the guest room that would be her home for the next two months. Which wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the man in the room down the passage. Hermione was burning with curiosity as to why he was also sentenced to therapy. She had a feeling he would never tell her and that irritated her more than it should have.


	5. Unpacking It In Public

"I'm sorry, but we do not accept that tone in our sessions."

Marvin Page had been an anger management counsellor for nearly twenty years and he thought he'd seen it all. That was until Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had been assigned to his twice-weekly group sessions.

When they arrived he had noticed the crackling tension between them with each stolen glance but had put it down to attraction.

Now he wasn't so sure. 

Both had remained petulantly silent for the first session, sitting as far from each other as they could. Hermione had picked at her cuticles the whole time, while Draco sneered at everyone who talked, rolling his eyes at some when things got emotionally heavy.

Marvin had decided to give them until their third session to talk. If they did not, he would have to be more aggressive in his tactics

In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the best idea. 

He had started with Hermione.

"Hermione, maybe you'd like to share with us why you're here?"

"I'd rather not. Did you know that there is no scientific proof that airing one's issues in a public forum is actually conducive to improving one's mental health? Not that I have any mental health issues. I shouldn't actually be here."

"You should have been here since childhood, Granger," snorted Draco.

"I beg your pardon?" hissed Hermione. "If anyone needs therapy, it’s you, Malfoy. Unfortunately, I don't have the next ten years to waste on hearing you unpack your childhood trauma."

"I'm not unpacking a single thing in front of you. Or anyone, for that matter."

So they knew each other, Marvin realised and internally scolded himself for not making the connection when he first read their files. These two adults fought in a war as children. He was surprised they'd not landed in his sessions before now.

"Let's get back to my original question," Marvin tried. "Hermione, do you understand why you're here?"

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "I had a bad day."

"Something everyone goes through," Marvin sympathised gently. "But what made your bad day turn into a bad month?"

Sophia Gurnsley, attending her fifth session, put up her hand. She was made to attend after she burnt her ex-girlfriend's belongings in the middle of Diagon Alley. "Oh, I know!"

"Oh look, another know-it-all," Draco gestured to Hermione. "You two should become good friends."

"Alright, Sophia," encouraged Marvin. "What do you say?"

"It's not about the bad day, it's how you react to it," she recited dutifully.

"Exactly right. Now, Hermione, do you think you reacted appropriately to your bad day?"

"I was thirsty," she grit out between clenched teeth. "Shouldn't the sexist pigs who wouldn't leave me alone be here instead? I was defending myself from unwarranted harassment."

"Oh yes, blame the patriarchy for all your problems. Of course, you can't ever be guilty of breaking the rules." Draco chided her.

"Says the man who never took responsibility for anything he did in his life."

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Not by choice, as you've made abundantly clear since day one."

"I'm surprised you could hear me complaining. You seemed too absorbed in your self-pitying rants to Potter."

"I'm not pitying myself."

"Marvin," Draco turned to him. "What is it called when a person can't acknowledge that they fucked up and holds themself above the law, claiming all kinds of ethical mistreatment and unfairness?"

He didn't wait for Marvin to reply, instead turning back to Hermione. "Oh yes, it's called being a spoiled princess who never had to earn anything in her life." 

"How dare you!" Hermione's voice dropped an octave as she glowered at him. "This coming from a spineless inbred wanker who couldn't find the balls to pick a side when it mattered most? If anyone here is spoiled, it’s you! I worked for everything I have ever had."

"I chose a side, Granger. I chose my family. If I recall, you exiled yours."

"Because yours wanted to kill them."

Marvin called a break and sent Draco and Hermione to cool down in separate parts of the building.

This was going to be harder than he expected, but if anything, he was up to the challenge - and it would make an excellent new book for his publisher.

  
  



	6. Popcorn At Group Is Tacky, Right?

"I'm sorry, but no."

This was Draco's answer when Marvin suggested they talk about his wife.

"You lashed out on the day of her funeral in a -for lack of a better word- spectacular fashion." Marvin continued. "Grief affects us all differently," he addressed the group. "Many of us feel powerless in its wake and this powerlessness turns to frustration which in turn leads to anger."

Draco's chair skidded against the vinyl floor as he stood up and left the room.

"In order to manage our anger, we need to acknowledge and process the root cause of it." Marvin went on, ignoring Draco's exit. "Justin, let's talk about your feelings regarding your father."

Justin Tencourt sat next to Hermione, his leg constantly bouncing as he bit his nails. Hermione wanted to set a Petrificus on him just to stop his agitation from infecting her.

"Nothing to say, really. He was an angry, abusive fucker."

"He never equipped you with the tools to process your emotions as he did not have them himself. Maybe his childhood was a harsh one?"

"He deserved his ending,” Juston spat. “All he left behind was a mountain of debt that I had to work my arse off to clear. Sins of the father, indeed."

Hermione tuned out Justin's angry monologue, her mind pulling her towards Draco. So he'd been married. She hadn't known that. And now his wife was dead. No one needed their grief to be examined in public, no matter how much of an arsehole they were. She found herself wondering where he was and if he was okay.

* * *

"I'm sorry, but getting dumped and fired on the same day can't come close to having the love of your life suddenly ripped from you."

They were at it again.

Their fourth session was in full swing.

"As if a Malfoy is even capable of love," she sneered back at him.

"Now, Hermione, that was uncalled for," Marvin chided her. "We don't use words to attack each other here."

"That's all that's been happening!" She burst out. "You keep saying we should use our emotional adjectives, but when we do, they're the wrong ones. It's like you're trying to invalidate how we express ourselves!"

"She’s not wrong," Draco added.

"Don't you start," Hermione snapped at him. "I was rejected! Twice in one day. But I'm sure you have no idea what that feels like."

"I've never experienced rejection? What planet have you been living on?" Draco shouted. "I have had nothing but rejection! The only person who didn't reject me was Beatrice, but I guess her dying was the ultimate rejection, wasn't it?" The bluster bled out of him and he slumped in his seat.

"Oh, now who's the self-pitying one?" Hermione jeered.

Marvin sighed and contemplated whether or not he had the strength to extend their therapy sessions by another six weeks. They certainly needed it.

Justin leaned over to Maude, the newest attendee seeing as how Sophia had graduated out of her sessions and muttered to her, "They do this every session. Personally, I think they just need a broom closet and about fifteen minutes."

Maude gasped a laugh and smacked Justin lightly on the arm. 

"It's called grief, Granger. Have you not been paying attention? I am grieving my wife. You are just rubbing a bruised ego."

"Actually, many things can cause grief," Marvin explained. "Not just the loss of a loved one, but the loss of anything in one's life. Stability, acceptance, love, security. Anything that is removed from us that makes us feel whole is a loss that needs to be grieved."

"There you go. My grief is just as valid." Hermione pointed out.

"Only seems fitting you would want to get top marks in therapy."

"If I'm forced to do it, I might as well do it properly."

"You're not earning house points here, you egotistical -"

"It's not about house points."

"-overachieving shrew."


	7. Al Fresco Nightcaps

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore,” Draco whispered to the picture he cradled in his hands before sliding it under his pillow.

That night, Hermione had found herself sniffing the air. There was an odd scent in it, so she followed it up through the house, out a window and onto the roof. 

Draco was sitting on the roof tiles next to his bedroom window, smoking and taking sips from a bottle of Firewhiskey.

"I won't tell if you let me have some," Hermione held up her hands in supplication.

"Keep them shut while you're here and I'll consider sharing."

She carefully climbed across the roof tiles and sat next to him, leaving about a foot of space between them. She picked up his box of cigarettes and held them up with a question in her look.

He shrugged and handed her a muggle lighter, which she took after a few moments and lit a cigarette for herself. As she exhaled the smoke, his arm extended towards her, holding the bottle of Firewhiskey.

She took a large sip, fighting a cough that came from the burn in her throat.

Draco continued to look up at the sky. It had a red tint to the dark blue of midnight.

"Seems like an omen," Draco said quietly after a while.

"It's light pollution," she explained.

"Stil ominous," he shrugged, lighting another cigarette.

Hermione hummed in agreement, taking another sip from the bottle. Draco leaned back on his elbows and exhaled, the plume of smoke blurring his features for a moment.

"Marvin gave me some homework," she said softly.

"I don't want to talk about Marvin," Draco tilted his head back, exposing his neck.

"Neither do I. I want to talk about you."

"Nope, not interested in that either. In fact, talking in general is not something I want to do right now."

"Just, humour me? You don't have to talk. I just need you to listen."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her.

"These sessions are not helping us if we keep baiting each other, so I want to call a truce. Anything personal that comes up will remain confidential and will not be used as ammunition against the other. Is that fair?"

Draco didn't respond, his ice grey eyes merely watching her from behind a whisky glaze. Hermione carried on talking.

"I am sincerely sorry about the loss you suffered. I shouldn't have used it against you."

His eyebrows went up to his hairline. "Is that all you're sorry for?"

"You haven't even offered an apology for—" she cut herself off and took a deep breath. "I was thinking about Hogwarts and the war. I'm sure there are people who think I owe them an apology for things I did during that time. But I won't apologise for any of it. I did the right thing."

Draco sat up, took a big swig from the bottle, handed it to her and moved towards his bedroom window, where he paused for a moment to look at her.

"So did I."


	8. The Silent Treatment

“I’m sorry, but Draco, if you want me to sign off on your sessions, I need you to cooperate with me.” Marvin resisted the urge to massage his temple where a headache had formed.

“I am attending as per the Wizengamot’s orders. There was nothing in the fine print of the order that I actually had to say a single bloody thing,” Draco crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. 

He was in a private session with Marvin, which was session five of six. Draco had woken up that morning in a foul mood.

Who the hell did Granger think she was trying to claim the moral high ground by apologising first. And it wasn’t even a proper apology, anyway. It was a ceasefire if anything.

Fine, she apologised for using the death of his wife against him. 

The thing is, he didn’t deserve the kind words. From her or anyone. 

He must have been a fool to think he could have happiness in his life. After everything he’d done, he had obviously been tempting fate by working towards a happily ever after.

Granger was wrong. Malfoys are capable of love. They’re just incapable of being loved or keeping it.

He snorted at his thoughts, breaking the silence in the room. 

Marvin raised his eyebrows. “A knut for your thoughts?”

Draco made a show of looking at the clock on the wall before standing up and leaving.

* * *

“I’m sorry, but you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

Hermione was pacing the length of Marvin’s office. He had been sure to schedule their sessions two hours apart to give himself adequate time to write up his reports on them.

“Well, Hermione, I know you were integral to the war effort.”

“Did you even fight in the war?” She paused in her pacing.

“I was doing my PhD study in Quebec, actually.” Marvin winced at his feeble tone. He was proud of his qualifications and she shouldn’t make him feel like a traitor for thinking that.

Hermione continued her pacing. “My life didn’t end when the war ended, which everyone seems to forget. I was nineteen years old and I was classified as a veteran. A sodding veteran! No one cares about the work I do now. No. It’s always about the war. I refuse to think I peaked as a person at nineteen.”

Marvin nodded, taking notes, allowing her to continue without interruption.

“But I’m closer to forty than I am to twenty and I want to find someone who is a partner, who has my back, who...who...who doesn’t think that taking me to bed is a bragging point. Someone who understands me. You know? But no. I’m always somehow not good enough. Not good enough to date. Not good enough to employ. Only good enough to roll out on special occasions when people want to hear war stories and I hate it. I spent eight years of my life terrified that I was going to end up dead before the end of the week, and people want me to relive that? What kind of fucked up nostalgia is that?”

She ran out of steam and sunk onto the sofa, her back bowed in defeat.

Marvin made a few more notes.


	9. These Are Not Good Decisions...

“I’m sorry, but this roof is reserved for spineless wankers,” Draco drawled as Hermione sat down next to him and took the bottle of Firewhiskey from his hand, taking a large sip.

“You’re not a spineless wanker,” Hermione muttered.

“Oh? Then what am I?”

“The same as me,” she said, exchanging the bottle for the cigarette he held between two fingers.

“Granger, we are not the same.”

“We’re both angry at the world. At each other.”

“I’m not angry with you. In fact, your effect on me is around the same level as a fly that won’t let me eat a meal in peace.”

She huffed a laugh and nudged his arm with her shoulder. “I don’t think Marvin is going to sign off our sessions and release us into the world next week.”

Draco shrugged. “I can think of at least four places worse to be than here.”

“I have nowhere else to be at all.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, but what the actual fuck?”

Harry stood in the doorway to his kitchen, frozen in shock at the sight before him.

“We were hungry?” Hermione glanced at Draco, who shrugged. “You know how it is, you get the munchies, decide to make a sandwich and…”

“End up shagging on the butcher’s block?” Harry finished for her. His face went through a spectrum of expressions before choosing confused. “Did Marvin sanction this?”

Draco barked out a laugh. 

* * *

“I’m sorry, but something seems different today,” observed Marvin the next day. Hermione and Draco were actually sitting next to each other. Was Hermione blushing?

“Can I see the two of you in my office quickly?”

Once the door closed behind them, Marvin spoke.

“You cannot start having a sexual relationship with someone you’re in group therapy with, nor if you’re in therapy, period!”

The two exchanged a look.

“You’re both still too vulnerable for any kind of new relationship.”

Draco turned to Hermione and quietly muttered something in her ear. She nodded.

“It’s just sex,” she said. “Good sex.”

“It’s not good sex,” argued Marvin.

“Well, you weren’t there,” muttered Draco.

Hermione elbowed Draco softly. 

“I mean,” continued Marvin. “It’s not good in the long run. You both have holes that you’re using each other to fill - don’t giggle - I heard it as I said it. I mean, emotionally. But what happens if you decide to leave her? Hermione? If you leave him? Will we have more property destruction? Draco, you're still grieving!”

“Merlin, Marvin. I’m not planning to marry her!”

“No. NO! I cannot allow this in good faith. I’m sorry, but you will have to attend three sessions a week with me if you want this relationship to work. One session each and one together.”

Hermione and Draco exchanged a look.

“I feel you’re more invested in this potential relationship than we are,” Hermione said.

“I’m invested in you both healing and being functional humans that don’t hurt others when you’re hurt. See where I’m going with this?” Marvin held out his arms to them.

* * *

“I’m sorry, but what do you mean we’re converting the guest rooms into a suite?” asked Ginny as she watched Harry study a set of blueprints on the kitchen table. He’d been avoiding the butcher’s block for a week now.

“Let’s just say, life doesn’t always go according to plan.”

“Ha! I knew it! You owe me twenty Galleons.”

Harry sighed and tore off a corner of the blueprints to write Ginny an IOU.

* * *

A few weeks later, Draco and Hermione were sitting on their spot, looking at the stars when Draco took her hand, placed a kiss on it and whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” replied Hermione.

The End


End file.
